


Conflux

by North_of_Kyrimorut



Series: Foxiyo Week 2020 [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: 21 BBY, F/M, Foxiyo Week 2020, Gen, Pre-Relationship, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, some Legends influence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28362672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/North_of_Kyrimorut/pseuds/North_of_Kyrimorut
Summary: A week in the life of the Commander of the Coruscant Guard and the Senator of Pantora.In which neither Fox nor Riyo gets enough sleep, as usual.Foxiyo Week 2020 – Routine: schedule, daily, familiar.
Relationships: Riyo Chuchi/CC-1010 | Fox
Series: Foxiyo Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2077149
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	Conflux

**Author's Note:**

> Just your run-of-the-mill old-school Star Wars fan who wanted to stretch the old (and pathetically rusty) writing muscles, lurked on Tumblr, and said, ‘Well, I guess I’m doing Foxiyo for practice.’ And since I don’t actually have a tumblr, here I am!
> 
> With that in mind, what I have on offer this week is seven loosely connected, loosely chronological, and questionably canonical shorts. Some of them play with a bit of Legends influence, which I know isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. Still finding my Fox voice, but that’s what practice is for.

_“For is not every meanest day the conflux of two eternities?”_

_21 BBY_

**Primeday -** _Aurek Shift_

His room—that tiny, private space that was both the privilege and privation of command—was still dark when Fox opened his eyes. He didn’t need a chrono to know that he was a heartbeat away from the lights turning on. They were on a timer set for 0430 and would stay on until a quarter to midnight, regardless of which shift Fox was _supposed_ to be sleeping through. Today, at least, his schedule was more or less in sync with the lights, and he allowed himself a blinking moment in the dark.

They kicked on just as he was trying to remember the last time he had slept more than three or four hours outside of a bacta tank, and the thought vanished. His feet hit the ground.

There was no pause, no conscious decision in the action. In the back of his mind, he knew that he had just enough time to visit the ‘fresher, cross the barracks to the gym, fit in the recommended forty minutes of exercise, shower, shave, kit up, stop by the mess, review whatever bulletins had cropped up for His Eyes Only while he slept, possibly breathe, and still arrive at in time for the fifteen minute turnover meeting before Aurek Shift began at 0600.

For a man who had been conditioned from creation on to adapt to the ever-changing landscape of a warzone, these bits and pieces of routine were not comforting. Fox was always, _always_ waiting for the next catastrophe to arrive.

He had a bad feeling when he saw Stone in the command center. Thire was the point man for the outgoing shift and should have been the one to confer with Fox. Stone was standing with his head tilted to the right, a sure sign that he was listening to the comm in his helmet. He signaled for Fox to standby and, after a moment, took off his bucket and sighed.

“Sorry. Thire got caught mediating a jurisdictional dispute between the CSF and the Blues. And, well, us.” Stone had already passed sixteen hours on duty and it showed, but the situation could have been far worse. “Staff member for the Firgosian delegation hot-wired the environmental controls on a public transport. Couple of people passed out, but no permanent damage done. CSF is claiming reckless endangerment. Senate Guard is pulling the politics card, even though this particular puffball doesn’t have diplomatic immunity.”

“And us?” Fox asked, as he scrolled through the last shift’s blotter. _Patrol check – Stolen vehicle – Welfare check – Suspicious persons – Public disturbance – Patrol check…_

“The usual. CSF is willing to cede to us, but not the Blues. CSF is winning. This time.”

 _Shots heard – Missing juvenile – Abandoned vehicle – Temporary restraining order – Patrol check…_ It was more information than any human could realistically absorb, but Fox knew how to detect the patterns in the chaos. He was in for one of _those_ days.

“I’ll expect a call from Captain Loture, then,” Fox grumbled. He knew that no matter how well Thire handled the situation, the Captain of the Senate Guard would have complaints. Complaints that she would assuredly bring to Fox’s attention.

There were other matters to discuss, but the moment Aurek Shift officially began at 0600, Fox pushed Stone towards the exit. “Clear off. Four shift rota starts today, and you’ll be lucky to get a full REM cycle in before you’re back on.”

Stone laughed in a way that might have been a little maniacal. “We’ll _all_ be running on stims before the week’s out. Even you, Commander ‘I Was Decanted This Way.’”

Fox let him have the last word on that old argument. A familiar comm frequency had already cropped up on his HUD and he took a moment to push aside the frustration that was already threatening to overtake his day. _Just eighteen more hours,_ he reminded himself before blinking the channel open and putting on his most civil tone for Captain Loture. “Good morning, Jesra. Yes, I was just briefed…”

* * *

Riyo Chuchi could not remember if she was, by nature, a morning person. She had spent her entire adult life in public service, and a good deal of her youth preparing for that career in a highly competitive academic environment. She had, by virtue of circumstance, become a person who was awake whenever she needed to be.

It was frankly alarming how often she Needed to be.

Still, some mornings were easier than others. The last Primeday just before the opening of the new senate session was not one of the easier ones. 

She left the private rooms of her penthouse without any time to spare. In the antechamber, she found a small cadre of her core support staff already waiting for her. She held up a hand in greeting, but did not waste time on pleasantries. “My hairdresser droid malfunctioned this morning and my shipment of pluis tea still hasn’t arrived. So for the love of the Goddess, please keep the bulletins to bullet _points_.”

Her scheduler, Eshwe, had rapidly risen in seniority after the personnel shakeup kicked off by Chairman Cho’s demise. She had taken to her new place in the hierarchy with alacrity and now felt free to address the clutch of new aides in a stage whisper. “A year into her first term and she’s become _so_ demanding.”

One of the aides essayed a short laugh, but the other two merely glanced at Riyo nervously. She tried for a reassuring smile. It wasn’t so long ago that she had done a turn as a senatorial aide, and she imagined that she would have appreciated someone with Eshwe’s caustic good humor to have led the way for her. It had been the first time she had been away from home and family for more than a few weeks, and at the time, she had thought that she could never be more frightened.

She had been wrong.

Still, she turned her smile on Eshwe. “Bullet points, _please?_ ”

Eshwe again turned to the aides. “Do you know what happened when she came back from Orto Plutonia?” The aides all perked up and looked to the scheduler. A somewhat sanitized version of what had happened with the Talz had been one of the first pieces of ‘classified information’ they had become privy after taking up their posts, and it seemed to be a source of endless interest. Not for the first time, Riyo thought that, had she been of a higher clan, _Eshwe_ probably would have been the one elected senator. She knew how to work a crowd. “This one kept on asking for _sitreps_. Too much time with the boys in white.”

“Those boys,” Riyo commented, “are part of the reason our people are not responsible for having committed genocide.”

“Pretty sure that the real reason was you and a spear.”

It would be a stretch to say that Riyo was losing her patience. But… she really was missing her tea. She rubbed her forehead, even if her smile stayed. “Esh— please make sure to put _yourself_ on my schedule this week. I think we might need to have a chat before you thoroughly corrupt my staff.”

Eshwe was still grinning even as she turned her attention to the datapad in her hand. “Right. Bullet points. Shu, give us the run down on the bills up for consideration.”

Coruscant’s reputation of being the planet that never slept was well earned. Scant hours had passed since Riyo had read her last precis of the day previous (in bed, just before turning out the lights) and yet the morning brief showed any number of critical shifts. Eriadu and Bothawui had somehow managed to agree to some mutually beneficial exchange of technological services over dinner and drinks. Chandrila had committed to throw its weight behind Alderaan’s proposed disaster relief committee. Wroona had finagled Culturally Significant Status (and its subsequent funding) for a particular Moon Goddess festival. Those were just a few of the issues that directly impacted Pantora in one way or the other. There were over two thousand delegations in town for the opening of the Senate, and at least half of them did their best wheeling and dealing during the night cycle.

Eshwe prompted another aide to give a run down on gossip and scandal—the last one had a briefing on the war effort, with its almost incomprehensible number of battlefronts. It raged fiercest over Malastare at the moment, but it would be foolish to ignore the thousands of smaller fires that made up the conflict between the Republic and the Separatists.

And so Riyo listened to the bullet points, a few choice words to encapsulate an entire galaxy, willing herself to take it all in and keep it. She had to listen; she had to remember. Lives depended on it.

It was finally Eshwe’s turn, and the day she outlined was well within what Riyo expected. The morning would be taken up by constituents, followed by preliminary committee meetings that would run well into the evening, and then administrative catchup that would, inevitably, take twice as long as it should. Riyo squared her shoulders and led the way out of the penthouse and into the fire.

* * *

The Senate Distract was a veritable city unto itself. Thousands upon thousands of offices satellited the Senate so that everything _seemed_ close, but was in fact very far. The Pantoran presence on Coruscant was not large enough to warrant a significant amount of private space. A few offices and reception rooms made up their delegation suite, with corridors and other public spaces shared. It made for a lively work environment that Riyo usually liked, but these ‘open house’ days brought their challenges. The security measures put in place after the start of the war made for even more difficulties. A dedicated team from the Guard would be assigned to whichever offices had their doors open on a given day. It could get… crowded. Riyo was relieved as they arrived on their floor to see a familiar figure in white armor, just edged in red. She greeted the trooper and motioned for the rest of her team to continue into the offices.

“Sergeant Rus, punctual as ever. How is everything?”

“Very good, ma’am,” he replied. He somehow managed to stand ever straighter. “The Pantorans have been getting vetted in good time, and no trouble.” His vocoder flattened out a sound that might have been a cough. “I did notice, ma’am, that _a certain one of your constituents_ who is not on your agenda has been cleared in the building to attend the forum by the Department of Agriculture.”

Riyo knew exactly who that ‘certain constituent’ was—a harmless, elderly Pantoran woman who would completely derail Riyo’s schedule if given the chance. “I appreciate the warning,” she said sincerely.

“The boys know how to direct her, if need be,” Rus continued. “If you happen to get cornered again…”

Riyo laughed. “We know what to do!”

“Yes, ma’am. And, ma’am? I’m letting Cutter take point today. Little extra experience for him. I’ll be at the side exit, if you need me.”

“Thank you for your efforts, Sergeant. I anticipate few difficulties this morning.”

Riyo knew she shouldn’t have made that declaration so early in the day. The Goddess loved a lunatic, to be sure, and Riyo had opened herself clear up for going mad. These public days always brought up sundry topics, from the price of silk moth pupa to the fate of the galaxy to the cleanliness of that one Pantoran eatery in the Works. The matters being raised seemed to be particularly diverse and emotions particularly high. Before lunchtime could even be called, Riyo found herself stealing away for a moment to breathe.

She was sure that virtually all senators learned quickly how to skirt through the public spaces and find their little pockets of privacy. Of course, it was a good bet that, say, the Senator from Corellia, wasn’t reduced to locking the door on one of those private bathrooms usually set aside for families/individuals with mobility issues/species with unique waste disposal requirements. But Riyo was from a small moon on the Outer Rim, and she took a few minutes to splash water on her face, smooth out her hair, and stare unseeing into the mirror before marching back into the fray.

She was fortunate that there was lull in the foot traffic. She was less fortunate that she could see, in the chamber just ahead of her, a familiar blue figure bundled in a fine handiwork shawl with white hair piled high.

 _I do_ not _have time for this._

She made a quick left turn into the side hall and skittered down until she caught a glimpse of white and red. “Sergeant!” she hissed, “For the love of the Goddess, unlock the service corridor! I have to get out of here!”

Two facts occurred to Riyo almost simultaneously: first, that her tone probably gave the false impression of an emergency, and second, the clone she had approached was wearing a _lot_ more red that her usual sergeant. But by the time those observations registered, blasters were drawn and she had been manhandled into the service corridor. She found herself momentarily nose-to-chest plate with the clone and she almost groaned when she saw the giant gear-and-dagger symbol of the Senate painted on his armor. She suddenly understood why she had been voted ‘ _most likely to be collateral damage in a clan feud’_ back in secondary school.

“Commander Fox? Please stand down,” she cut in, “I may have misrepresented the severity of the situation.”

Goddess, how did someone’s gaze _burn_ through so much plastoid? “Indeed?” The few previous interactions Riyo had had with the Commander of the Coruscant Guard were all civil. But she was a politician, and she knew when she was being politely handed a rope with which to hang herself.

She took a moment to formulate her reply. “There’s a constituent of mine present who does not have an appointment. If she saw me, my entire schedule would be upended.” As an afterthought, she added, “Sergeant Rus and I have dealt with this particular issue before. He would have, er, understood.”

The helmet tilted, though some of the fight-or-flight tension left Commander Fox’s shoulders. Or was it fight-or-fight? “I thought it was the policy of the Pantoran mission to grant an audience to _any_ petitioner? If that is no longer the case, I would appreciate updating the security protocols surrounding your office.”

Riyo held up her comlink. “I really just need a moment to direct the appropriate person to run interference so that I can…”

“Keep to your schedule?” he asked. Riyo really could not discern his tone. Amused? Condemnatory? She had a sudden flash of insight as to how many foibles of the Senate this man was privy to—how much sentient frailty he probably saw every day.

“Madam Verdoda will be attended to and be satisfied,” she said, her voice a tick softer. “If I had thirty-six hours in a day, I’d give a handful of them to her. But I do not have that luxury.” He remained silent, but gestured to her comlink. Riyo nodded and called one of the aides. “Yes, I just stepped out for a moment. Fria Verdoda was headed to the antechamber a minute ago. Have Shu take her to conference room cresh and chat. He’s a Toli. She’ll like that.” She received an affirmative and returned her comlink to its holder. She faced the Commander’s impassive t-visor squarely. “I apologize for any inconvenience.”

“No harm done, ma’am.” He gestured for Riyo to return to the hall.

She paused for a moment. “May I ask, what _did_ happen to Sergeant Rus? Is he all right?”

“Routine inspection,” was the bland response. “He will be back at his post in a few minutes.”

“Oh, good,” Riyo murmured and then immediately jerked her gaze back to the Commander. “Not to say—I mean, you were _extremely_ prompt, Commander Fox, and had that been a real emergency—”

She was starting to _really_ hope that indefinable tone in his voice was amusement. “But Sergeant Rus would have understood better?” He had fallen into step with her back towards the audience rooms. “If I may ask, Senator, how often _do_ you order Rus into deserted service corridors?”

“I think it’s only happened once before…” the words died on Riyo’s lips as she glanced over at the Commander. That bleeding helmet gave away _nothing,_ and it was driving her crazy. So she did what she always did when faced with a minor inconvenience: she laughed. “Your sergeant has always been a picture of professionalism and courtesy, Commander. And I hope he would say something similar of me.”

“I’ll be sure to pass that along to his commanding officer,” Fox said and, well, Riyo had been wrong. _Now_ she could hear what amusement sounded like in his voice.

“There you are, Senator!” Riyo was caught by a harried Eshwe and pulled back towards the fray. She turned back to see the Commander executing a neat about-face and start to walk away. She still smiled at his retreating form and gave a little wave of her fingers. His step checked for a moment, and he half turned to offer a slight nod before continuing on his way.

* * *

**Centaxday** \- _Besh Shift_

There were two regulations that continuously impacted Fox’s schedule. The first one was sensible: at least two ranking commanders needed to be on shift at all times. The second one served no discernable purpose to Fox: the Commander of the Guard _always_ needed to be on Aurek Shift. Ostensibly, this would allow him to be available to the highest echelon of Senatorial officers when it was most convenient for _them._ In reality, the Chancellor never appeared to sleep and the other department heads where equally haphazard. But regs were regs, and Fox was always on duty at 0600. (He thought, momentarily, of the fixed lights in his room.)

He was diligent in making sure his subordinate commanders were scheduled as fairly and sensibly as possible, but it was often impossible to show the same consideration to himself. Inevitably, in the course of a week, there was a day when one set of shifts blended into the next. Yesterday had already gone fuzzy for him: Aurek shift had turned to besh, then cherek, and then instead of getting off for a few hours of R&R, he had gone right through into the next day’s rota: dorn, aurek again, and now finally—finally— _Besh Shift._

Thire was the other commander on duty, and the only one not giving Fox a wide berth. Apparently, he did not look approachable after thirty-plus hours on duty and stimmed into hyperspace. He had been on his feet for the entire time. Troop and security measure evaluations took up most of the previous day. Today, with the preliminary committee sessions in full swing, it was the anti-terrorism units that had the bulk of Fox’ attention. Technically, it was Thire on lead—but a second pair of eyes was a good thing to have on such days.

Even if that second pair of eyes had started to cross a little.

“You need to add a fourth regimental commander,” Thire said without preamble, when they both chanced to be in the commander center at the same time. “I know Verk was going to get the promotion, but he’s been dead six weeks now. There has to be someone else.”

Fox downed his caf. “Put it on the agenda for the next command meeting.”

Thire did not look impressed. “ _Fine_. But it has to happen. Stat.”

“Who died and made you Senior-CC?” Fox groused. It always surprised him that he never got a laugh from that comment. The majority of clones were comfortable making light of their mortality-rates to some degree or another. But for some reason, no one found it funny when Fox joked about leaving his position vacant. Well, he did have the pick of some of the best troopers in the GAR. Possibly they were all smart enough to _not_ want his job.

“Maybe not, but I’m pretty sure I’m on point right now.” Thire’s expression became suddenly devious, and Fox narrowed his eyes in warning. “And since I’m on point, I’m going to use a skill that I learned from you. Del-e-gation.”

“I’m glad you’ve taken my training so seriously,” Fox said. He settled his helmet back on and scanned through the real-time reports coming in from the Senate floor. It was either a testament to his exhaustion or to his growing stim-resistance that he didn’t immediately notice Thire waving a data packet in front of his visor.

“Lay off the info feeds,” Thire said, and it took Fox a moment to realize that Thire had also put his helmet back on and was addressing him through a closed comm. “You’re scaring the shinies. Go ahead and walk this down to Blue HQ.”

“And why would I do that?” Fox asked, pointedly not taking the data pack.

“Because it needs a commander’s sign-off, because if you take the side-route, it’ll be a nice, _quiet_ twenty minute walk there and back again, and because you’re not going to undermine procedure just because you’re sleep deprived. Also, pretty sure Loture likes you. Must be for your handsome face, because it sure as stars isn’t your charming personality.”

“I can be charming,” Fox said, snatching the data pack out of Thire’s hand. “Just because I’m not wasting my charm on you doesn’t mean I can’t be charming.”

“See if you can charm Loture into _not_ stomping on our jurisdiction. There’s a good vod.”

At another time, Fox would have flat out refused to play along with Thire pushing him to essentially run an errand. But, at another time, Thire would have never even made the suggestion.

A commanding officer who didn’t know his own limits was a _bad_ commanding officer, and Fox knew he was pushing past his limit. Sure, he also knew that if an emergency hit that all of his training and adrenaline would kick in and carry him through. But, for the moment at least, there were no emergencies. So he took the data pack with bad grace, and stuck to a maze of side streets, service corridors, and restricted zones that took him out of the building where the Coruscant Guard was stationed and into the Senate. It was, he grudgingly admitted, good to walk at an almost leisurely pace and with few distractions.

He signed over the data pack to a one of the Senate Security officers, and was glad that Jesra Loture was _not_ there to try to charm. Thire was exaggerating, as it was: Captain Loture had only slightly more tolerance for the Coruscant Guard than she did for the high-end spice suppliers that had connections in the Senate. Fox did what he could to maintain good interdepartmental relations, but there were some lines he had no interest in crossing. He did not share the predilection common amongst his brothers for women who could maim, dismember, and kill in both close quarters and/or at a respectable sniper’s distance. Not that it was a universal preference, of course. He had felt obliged just the day before to give Rus a good talking-to concerning Senator Chuchi. The sergeant had indeed behaved with the utmost professionalism, but he was clearly a little smitten. And based on her profile, Fox guessed that _her_ deadliest ability was standing her ground and using her mouth. Which, admittedly…

Fox shook his head to make sure the stims weren’t causing hallucinations. He was using a service corridor on a lower floor to get to an exit, and there she was. Again.

She was leaning against the wall, in a half-crouch, demolishing a large sandwich in a way that would make a final-growth cycle cadet proud. She looked up at his approach, gave him a closed-mouth smile around a large bite, and waved.

Fox stuttered to a stop near her. “Senator?”

“Commander Fox,” she greeted before taking another bite.

“I don’t think any of my sergeants let you in this time,” he said, dryly. He seemed to have difficulty using his professional voice with her. He had worked hard at finding the right blend of Senior Officer and unflappable politeness to use when dealing with politicos, but something about Riyo Chuchi made him default to his natural mannerisms.

She seemed completely unbothered by his questioning tone and less-than-friendly posture and replied with complete equanimity, “Cleaning droid. M-8-18. He’s very nice.”

“You’re awfully far from your floor, Senator.”

She held up what little remained of her sandwich. “Better food in the service-level cafeteria. I missed lunch, and was going to miss dinner too if I didn’t grab _something_.”

The three cafeterias that serviced the senatorial levels ranged from a cute café thing ringed around a water feature imported from Mon Calamari to a sprawling dining hall with chairs upholstered in red velvet and wait staff in dark suits. The service-level cafeteria, on the other hand, boasted metal chairs bolted to the floor and flimsi-wrapped diner-grub. “Better food, but not worth eating there?”

She shrugged. “It makes the workers uncomfortable. And it’s nice to have a moment to myself. They’re going to be few and far between in the coming weeks.” Fox was still coming up with another suitable interrogative, when the senator tilted her head. “And how are you, Commander? You sound tired.”

Fox knew for a fact that he was standing at attention and that the vocoder on his helmet would flatten out any tremor of fatigue in his voice. So either Pantorans were unlisted empaths, or the senator was guessing. He saw no reason to give her more information than necessary. “Fine, ma’am. Headed to a meeting, but I can’t very well leave you here. You’re not authorized.”

“Ah,” she said. She finished her sandwich in a last, over-sized bite and gathered her trash neatly. She stood, still chewing, and nodded deferentially. “Very well, Commander. I _can_ find my way back, if you permit?”

Technically, he should not permit. Technically, he should write up a violation and have it inserted into her file. But, also technically, no one was fighting him to take over as the Senior Clone Commander on Coruscant, and he was able to use his discretion. He was scant minutes away from thirty-six hours on duty, and he did not want to spend any more time conscious than he had to. “Promptly, please, ma’am.”

She nodded, and pulled out a little package from the flimsi bag her dinner had been stowed in. “Catch, Commander.”

Thirty-six hours or no, Fox still had his reflexes. He caught the package as precisely as he would have intercepted a detonator.

It was a cookie.

She dipped her head once more as she passed him, a very polite gesture. “Good day, Commander. Have a snack and take a nap.”

Fox had to admit, that seemed like a very sound strategy and he would take it under advisement.

* * *

**Taungsday** \- _Cherek Shift_

Thorn presented himself at the rendezvous point with a fresh shave and a regulation haircut. Like Fox, he was kitted out in the dress greys of the GAR. Unlike Fox, he could not seem to keep his distaste off of his face. “You know what I’m going to do? I am going to get some di’kutla big tattoo right across my face. And that’s what I’m going to have tattooed: d-i-k-u-t. From ear to ear.”

“That would be appropriate,” Fox agreed. “But if you’re trying to get out of the greys, it won’t help.”

“I can’t even wear my _beard_ according to the dress uniform regs,” Thorn groused. “Stone almost never gets pulled for these assignments, and his tattoo is _tiny._ ”

Fox nodded. He was running through a final equipment check—concealed blasters and vibroblades, low-powered detonators and smoke bombs. It was not, by any standard, a formidable arsenal. But it would be enough for a quick defense, or a particularly pathetic last stand. His jaw was still sore from the temporary subcutaneous comlink that had been implanted earlier in the day, but the sound of the chatter in his ear was a comfortable echo of what he would have heard with his HUD. He clicked his teeth and switched the frequency to Thorn’s channel. “Getting a ‘di’kutla big tattoo’ won’t help because I will _personally_ find a laser and resurface your face.”

Based on the sideway look Thorn threw him, the signal was coming in loud and clear. “ _Fine.”_

It could have been worse. Fox could have been responsible for the gala security. He was still baffled as to why the Chancellor asked for the Coruscant Guard to attend these events _as guests_ , but he was glad that the inevitable crises of the night would not be _his_ crises _._ Probably. Though if (when) any trouble spilled out of Grand Reception Halls and into the District itself, it most certainly _would_ be Fox’s responsibility.

No. No, he was not going to think about that. He was going to stand with Thorn in one of the Senate’s massive reception halls and let a few curious politicians take a closer look at a perfect soldier. _A chance for our most distinguished champions of the Republic to demonstrate their gratitude to the fiercest_ warriors _of the Republic,_ the Chancellor had said the first time he had extended the invitation. Or was it an order? There was little difference between the two, when it came to the Chancellor. At the time, Cody had been planetside and accompanied Fox. It ranked as one of Fox’s most uncomfortable evenings, somewhere between nightfall on Geonosis and his first live-rounds training when he was five.

Since then, he had learned to cope. Such occasions were not common, but they had arisen a few times in the intervening months. During them, Fox had made a fascinating discovery: standing barefaced next to an identical brother was _almost_ as anonymous as having a helmet on. Perhaps even more so: Fox’s armor was unmistakable, but few bothered to distinguish the differences in a clone’s rank plaque.

“Do you know what I’m going to do once my shift ends?” Thorn said, quiet enough that Fox had to listen through his comlink. “I’m going to march into the kitchens and requisition the table scraps.”

Fox snorted but did not reply. Even a clone was allowed his dreams, after all.

* * *

Invitations to the three main formal events of the Senate took cultural customs into account. And so, there was the Senator of Naboo trailed by her handmaidens, and the three Brother-Senators from Aleen with their spouses and offspring, and the Senator from Seswenna with her harem in tow. Pantora had no such customs, and so the Opening Gala invitation was extended simply to Riyo.

As with so many things, the first occasion had terrified her. She had felt underdress and overdone, overanxious and underprepared. But she also knew how to handle herself, how to maintain her decorum and keep alert. It did not take her long to adjust. She may have been too small and self-contained to cut through a crowd, but she could wind her way through one and make herself charming to the colleagues she met along the way. Riyo wasn’t naïve: it helped that she was reasonably attractive by most near-human standards. She doubted that she would end her galactic career with many lifelong friends from the Senate, but it was easy enough to find people to make polite chitchat with for an evening.

She made her entrance at the gala with as much fanfare as the next arriving dignitary. That is to say, so much that they all blended one into the next. There was so much scrupulous enthusiasm permeating the massive, interconnected reception halls that substance didn’t stand a chance at survival.

She was glad that she ran across Senator Voorinik before he was too deep in the wine. Wroona and Pantora were classic, if curious, allies. The old joke was that they were one people divided by a common language, and there was some truth in that. Their peoples shared a good deal of common ancestry, along with many cultural and religious traditions, but Wroona had all the benefits of Core-worlder wealth. Voorinik was halfway through his thirty-year term, and if he chose to treat Riyo like his young cousin from the country, well… there were worse things.

Riyo obliquely complimented him on capturing one of the limited religio-cultural grants available; Voorinik mildly suggested that a small delegation of priestesses from Pantora’s famous Pashwe Temple could be most helpful in certain festival activities.

It was nice to be understood.

This tiny bit of politicking done, Voorinik turned his attention out to the assembled group. “Splendid, isn’t it?”

“As always,” Riyo agreed. How could she not? The crowd was massive and nothing short of glittering. The first formal function she had attended as senator had left stars in her eyes. This one... well, it no longer held quite so much glamor for her. Riyo was no revolutionary. She owed her appointment to her family name and the Chuchis’ famously moderate, community-centric politics. But so much of what she had thought of as political theory had changed once the war started, and especially when it came so close to home. Those were feelings that she had to take care in expressing, but she knew Voorinik would take the thought in good stead. “It does make one pause, when you consider how many soldiers and Jedi and citizens are—” well, she had to maintain a little political polish here and not say _dying_ — “suffering at this very moment.”

He made a gesture halfway between a nod and a shrug. “True. But the credits have already been spent, as it were. Would they have been better spent on the military, or in relief efforts? Who can say? We’re not helping anyone by not drinking the Chancellor’s wine.” He punctuated this comment by picking up two flutes of something sparkly from a passing servitor and handing one to Riyo. “To the Republic.”

“To the Republic,” she echoed.

“If you’re really concerned,” he said, “I believe Master Allie is here tonight. She usually is. Or you could ask the Boys in White that are present.”

Riyo had been prepared to laugh of the idea of tracking down a member of the Jedi Council, but she paused at his second statement. “All I see are the Senate Guards, and GAR brass. Not a lot of clone troopers.”

“I forget, Pantora does like to keep you running off on _adventures._ A wonderful opportunity to keep busy in your youth, to be sure, but you do _miss things._ The Chancellor has had a handful of the clone commanders come out to play recently. Not that they do— play, that is. Just stand around looking grim in grey uniforms. They don’t eat. They barely speak. Not unattractive fellows, but you can tell they’re built for war and nothing else.”

“I’ve had a chance to speak to some of the soldiers over the months,” Riyo said slowly, “and they certainly do their jobs well. But if we do _our_ jobs well, eventually there will be peace.”

Voorinik smiled indulgently at her, and she suddenly felt the difference in their ages. “You are very optimistic, Riyo.”

“Maybe so,” she replied, and drank more of her wine.

* * *

It was several hours later when Riyo finally caught sight of two men looking grim in grey. She had to hand it to Voorinik with that description: even though she had seen troopers without their helmets on, she would have been hard pressed to place them in this crowd. If she hadn’t been told otherwise, she would have assumed they were on duty. She had the occasional moment to observe the pair as she worked the room. A few other guests approached them, mostly military, but they never spoke for more than a minute. From time to time, one of the clones would offer a slight smile or a precise nod to go along with whatever platitudes had been exchanged. It was a curious contrast how they stood out as so starkly different and yet… disappeared.

Her casual circuit of the room brought her closer to them, and she thought she detected something familiar in the way one held himself. In a free moment, she drifted closer still and smiled. She thought she could decipher his rank plaque well enough. “Commander Fox?”

“Senator Chuchi,’ he replied, and Riyo smiled a little wider. So she _had_ recognized him.

She offered another smile to the other clone. “Commander?”

There was the briefest pause. “…Thorn, ma’am.”

A servitor droid was passing by with canapes, and Riyo had it stop. “Have you had the crustacean in cewick sauce? It’s very good, if you like spicy food.”

Fox answered for the both of them, “no, ma’am.”

“Would you like to try it?” To Riyo, it was about as neutral of a topic as could be brought up, but her hand stopped just short of the tray when Fox shook his head.

“No, ma’am,” he paused. “Thank you.”

She waved the droid without taking one for herself. When the silence went on for a beat too long, Thorn rocked forward slightly and offered, “We do our best not to eat on duty, ma’am.”

She blinked. “Of course. I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you _were_.”

“Always, ma’am,” he said, with just a hint of a smile and—a wink? Riyo glanced over at Fox. Earlier that week, she had wondered how someone could look so intense with their eyes hidden beneath a helmet. Now, she had to wonder how someone could look so murderous with a completely neutral expression. If the flicker of an eyelash could kill, Thorn would have been dead.

She offered up a deflection and opened her hands in a mute apology to Fox. “Then I probably shouldn’t keep throwing cookies at you, should I, Commander?”

More miniscule shifts in the two identical faces. Was that a blush forming on Fox’s face? She always had a hard time telling on species with warmer skin tones. As for Thorn, he looked positively riveted. His gaze flickered between Riyo and Fox repeatedly.

“Probably not, ma’am,” Fox said.

Thorn looked like he was about to say something, when they were interrupted.

“Chuchi, I _know_ you have an opinion on the Warchigade Route anti-piracy measures,” the Envoy of Shafr cut in with only a brief nod to the clones, “Perini needs sense talked into their two heads…”

Every modicum of personality and expression vanished from both Fox and Thorn’s face. They became so blank that Riyo could almost believe she had imagined their previous interactions. She mouthed _sorry_ as she was dragged away, and only the quirk of Fox’s lip let her know that she was heard and understood.

It was training, she figured. Training that made tall, strong men almost invisible. Perhaps some inverse of her own education: training had taken her from a slight, quiet girl to someone who could, when necessary, command the attention of thousands. The thought then occurred to her—why pretend to be invisible, unless you were in dangerous territory?

* * *

**Zhellday** \- _Dorn Shift_

Fox knew that many planets had their own calendar cycles, with idiosyncratic week periods. A common variation was seven or eight days, with the majority of these making up the ‘work week’ and the remaining days the ‘weekend.’

That was not the Galactic Standard week that they kept on Coruscant, and Fox had never personally encountered a weekend. Still, it was not unusual to see official business slow down as a new week approached. And if a hardworking bureaucrat was going to take a bit of personal time for a late evening out, it was most likely going to happen on Zhellday. For Fox, that meant handing more drunk-and-disorderlies over to CSF for processing and a relatively quiet time around the Senate proper.

But relatively quiet still had its moments. Fox had taken a squad of semi-shinies out on a patrol. It was the sort of exercise that was good for the boys: helped them acclimate to the Guard, helped them learn to trust Fox’s orders, and helped Fox get to know his men. He was glad this bunch hadn’t complained too much about being far from the front lines of battles.

“We’d _all_ rather be straight-shooting droids,” Fox told them, “but not all warfare is so clear-cut.”

They had listened attentively, and peppered him with questions as the evening wore on.

“Why would he buy deathsticks for himself? Don’t they kill you?”

“If she was his escort, where were her armaments?”

“How do they get their jobs done with so much leave?”

Fox was ten months older and wiser, and so answered with the voice of experience. He didn’t mind when Thire pinged him with a nearby suspicious activity alert as they approached midnight and his shift was winding to an end. Every small incident was an education that could end up saving a soldier’s life. And it was small—the Kuati senator’s wife was magnificently drunk on one of the Senate’s deserted speeder platforms. The activities she and her bodyguard were engaged in were not suspicious, but did fall under public indecency laws.

“Sector clear,” Fox sent back to HQ, “political spouses behaving badly.”

“ _I tried to watch that holovid once,_ ” Thire replied, “ _but plot just didn’t hold me. Hate to say it, but I’ve got one more right next to you. I can get Riki’s patrol if you want to clear off, though._ ”

Fox pulled up the report on his HUD. It was a single trip in a senatorial suite—probably an aide who had forgotten something in their office and didn’t think to update the security system. “Negative. We’ll check it out. Bo and Short-Walk are still with me. I sent the other three to book Milady and her boyfriend over to Obrim’s men.”

“ _Copy that. Shove off after you’re done there. It’s already Dorn shift. I did the handover to Stone for you._ ”

“You’re my favorite brother of the minute,” Fox replied, and got a snort and static in reply. He gestured for the last two troopers to follow him into the building. He kept up a stream of explanations. “This building never really sleeps, but there are protocols in place to help us identify unsanctioned activity. Senatorial staff is _supposed_ to flag when they open and close their offices. Usually they do, but inevitably _someone_ forgets something and we need to check when the automated system tripped.”

Usually, Fox _wasn’t_ the clone making those checks. The Senate Building was technically his personal jurisdiction, and he _did_ like to make his presence known at seemingly random intervals, but day-to-day security checks would have fallen under the purview of one of his captains. He talked through the usual division of duties with his new troopers, and he got the impression that they felt quite _honored_ that the Commander of the Coruscant Guard was taking the time to walk them through a lowly systems blip.

 _I just want you to live,_ Fox thought as they took the lift up to the compromised floor, _If you know me, you might trust me, and if you trust me—maybe I can keep you alive._

…he did need to pull out after this check. He was getting maudlin, no doubt thanks to the week’s mounting sleep debt.

He had a mounting suspicion as to what had caused the security alert, and it was all but confirmed when they stopped outside the doors of the Pantoran delegation’s suite. Fox pulled up thermal imaging on his HUD and targeted the inner rooms. As he thought—the senator’s office. If he had detected any motion of console work, he would tagged the area as occupied and gone about his business. But even the crude shapes generated by heat-print showed an unmoving figure, half-sprawled on the desk. He signaled for Bo and Short-Walk to stay put and used his override cylinder to access the suites. The senator’s office door was shut tight, and he knocked quietly. The only response was a muffled _huh?_ Fox keyed the door open.

As expected, Riyo Chuchi was half asleep, her head propped up by her forearms on her desk. Fox ran through a standard risk assessment, but there was nothing to be concerned about. The lights were half-dimmed. Her comconsole was looping voice notes from an early morning committee meeting and a stack of datapads had scattered off the desk and onto the floor.

“Senator?”

She hummed vaguely in response.

Fox took a step further into her office. “Senator? Wake up.”

There was a long moment before she started blinking. “Eh? Fox?” she cleared her throat and straightened up slowly. “Oh, _kark._ ” She rubbed at her eyes. Fox’s analysis suggested that the purple and gold smudges around them were the remnants of the cosmetics she had worn to the gala the night previous. “I told my aide that I was leaving for the night, but then I wanted to generate another report before tomorrow—ugh, no one knew I was in here and set the All Clear, didn’t they?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Fox said. He struggled to keep the chuckle out of his voice. He had heard many senators express many more vulgar sentiments, but there was something oddly funny about _this_ senator’s mild _kark._ “It looks like you knocked over your datapads and tripped the security sensor.”

She groaned. “It’s this kriffing Warchigade policing bill. The polls are saying it isn’t going to pass tomorrow, but it _has to pass_. If it doesn’t—” she cut herself off and then sighed. “I’m sorry, Commander. Wasting your time with more unauthorized access, _and_ starting to filibuster.”

Fox had a running mental list of all the important bills and current issues up for debate. He knew why Pantora cared about this particular one—with their long history of fending off slaver raids, any lawlessness on a close hyperspace route was a cause for concern. Fox had his own thoughts on the matter. More than a few clones had been spaced because their transport had used the wrong route at the wrong time. There was a small part of him that agreed with her. None of which merited saying.

Instead, he kneeled down to collect the fallen pads and set them back on her desk. “No harm done, ma’am.”

“You’ve said that to me before,” she murmured. Her fingers, even bluer in the shadows, skimmed over the data pads. “I _try._ I don’t know it it’s enough. Is it enough to do no harm?”

 _It’ll never be enough,_ the voice of Fox’s old sergeant floated into his head. _It’ll never be enough, and you just need to prioritize and get on with what you can do._ Those words had carried Fox through many a hopeless situation, and yet—as he looked at her, they didn’t seem to be quite the indisputable piece of wisdom he had long taken them to be. “In a galaxy at war, ma’am,” he said slowly, “there is nothing more valuable.” There was a long pause, and Fox almost panicked when he saw tear tracks starting down her cheeks. But he could recognize exhaustion, had dried enough tears off of dozens of copies of his own face after the shifts had been too long and the fighting too brutal. He discreetly tapped out instructions on his wristcom. “Come along, ma’am,” he said, “you’re no use dead. Some of my troopers will see you home, and then you should get some sleep.”

She stood slowly, but was steady on her feet. She nodded. “The trouble with sleep is that when you wake up, it’s tomorrow.”

“It’s already tomorrow.”

She smiled, the wide grin of someone overtired. “So it is. But sometimes, don’t you just want to shoot your wake up alarm?” She was staring openly at his double holsters. “You’re equipped for it, after all.”

He escorted her out of the office, making sure the security system was activated behind them, and handed her off to his troopers. “Honestly, ma’am? Never considered it.”

“Then you’re a better person than I am, Fox,” she said, and allowed herself to be led away.

* * *

**Benduday** – 0430

Fox’s eyes opened just a heartbeat before the lights came on in his room. His first thought was that, yes, he really should just grab his blaster and shoot them.


End file.
